


The Best Nativity Play Ever

by ineffablebadger



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A smattering of pining, Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Christmas, Gen, Inspired by The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, Little a pining as a treat, Nativity Play, No beta we fall like Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablebadger/pseuds/ineffablebadger
Summary: Nanny Ashtoreth accompanies Warlock to rehearsals for the Community Centre's Nativity Play. It doesn't quite turn out how anybody was expecting.Inspired by the book 'The Best Christmas Pageant Ever".
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange, IneffableBadger's Seasonal Fics





	The Best Nativity Play Ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebright1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/gifts).



> I wrote this for the Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange! I really hope you like your gift, TheBright1!
> 
> This was really fun to write - I never write in the first person or from Crowley's POV so it was an interesting challenge that got me out of a writing rut.

November arrived at the Dowlings’ residence in a wave of sugar-induced chaos. I watched proudly as Warlock became even more energetic in his destruction than usual, fuelled by the sweets from his Trick-or-Treating. He’d gone dressed up as Iron Man. As Aziraphale waved at me through the window, Warlock was running his Hot Wheels over some very expensive crystal the Dowlings’ had been gifted by some diplomat or other.

“Warlock, dear, do you want to play outside?” I asked him, glancing toward Aziraphale. 

“Yeah, I’m _bored_.” Warlock sighed.

We walked together through the large front door of the house and into the grounds, where Aziraphale was waiting, absentmindedly throwing some seed to the birds. Despite the ridiculous disguise, the facial hair, and the unflattering clothes, there was something about watching Aziraphale work as Brother Fancis that I loved. Not that I’d admit it, but it was probably because it was still fundamentally Aziraphale under there. That ridiculous, loveable bastard.

“‘Ello Warlock and Nanny.” Aziraphale grinned. I nodded in response as Warlock ran up and hugged the gardener. When had _that_ become a thing that Warlock did?

“Hi Brother Francis!” Warlock beamed, it was unsettling to see such a genuine smile on his face. 

Without so much as a breath, Warlock was barreling feet first into a large muddy puddle in his brand-new white trainers. That was more like it! Aziraphale and I stood for a moment, both chuckling fondly at the boy. 

“We have a problem.” Aziraphale said primly in his regular voice.

“Oh?”

“The boy has no friends.”

“Yes, well, kinda difficult to meet children your own age when you’re home-schooled.”

“Precisely. I think he’ll start to care more for his fellow humans if he...well...knows more of them.”

“Right,” I sighed. That was exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Friends. Care for his fellow humans. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“Some parents in the area are organising a little nativity play, children from different primary schools and what not.”

“A nativity-'' I paused for a moment, considering the implications of the Antichrist performing in a play about the birth of Christ. The image of Warlock tearing across the stage, wreaking havoc, forgetting what to do...it was enticing. “I suppose the Nanny can chaperone him.”

“Oh, perfect!” The angel smiled with his trademark wiggle, a smile spreading across his face. A beautiful, foolish, optimistic angel.

* * *

True to my word, I began accompanying Warlock to rehearsals at the local community centre every Wednesday. I nodded with appropriate disappointment on my face when the Director, if a mousy teacher bossing around some seven year olds with tea towels on their heads can so be called, told me Warlock had caused some disruption to the first rehearsal. Nevertheless, she said, none of the other boys volunteered to be Joseph so he’d been given the role. Perfect, I thought, Warlock must already be learning to use his powers.

“So, dear, I hear you got a starring role!” I asked him curiously on the way home.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to be a smelly old shepherd.”

“Right, and no other boys wanted to play Joseph?”

“One did, his name was Barnaby. He’s been Joseph for three years now and is the Director’s son and I said it wasn’t fair.”

“You what?”

“I told him if he did Joseph, I’d feed him apple seeds and a tree would grow in his belly.” That was certainly an innovative way to exert his influence, I had to give him that.

“Well done dear.” I replied, because it felt like I should be encouraging this sort of thing.

“I told Ellie to do the same thing to Tabitha. She was supposed to be playing Mary.” It seemed that Warlock had made some friends after all, and quickly. They were already plotting _schemes_ together. I could hardly be more proud. 

“‘’n Ollie and Ben and Josh and they’re all going to be the three wise men. I made it happen.”

“Is that so?” I asked him, curious.

“Yeah, none of us wanted to be shepherds or in the stupid angel choir.”

“I should think not.” I agreed with him. 

Sure, this was just a little nativity play, but by now he certainly _should_ be going after whatever he wanted and taking it. This was a good sign. Well, a _bad_ sign. Nothing too serious though, not a genuine dishonest-to-badness _bad_ thing. Still, I could easily make it sound impressive in my next report to Head Office.

“I’m gonna be Jesuses dad.” He added, interrupting my train of thought.

“Not, er, well...not biologically speaking.” I said with a chuckle. 

“Huh?” Shit, I thought to myself, seven is probably too young to learn about the birds and the bees.

“Not really, God is Jesus’s father isn’t he?” I added hurriedly. 

“Dunno, we haven’t got to that bit yet.”

“Alright then, you’ll see darling.” I smiled and ruffled Warlock’s hair. He was a good boy, really. Not nearly as evil as he ought to be by now, thanks to Aziraphale’s heavenly influence. The plan appeared, for now at least, to be working exactly as we had both intended. 

* * *

Living at the Dowlings' was great. It meant I got to see lots of Aziraphale without him getting too jumpy about things or anyone asking awkward questions. Harriet didn’t give a shit about what we got up to, so long as we kept Warlock out of her hair when she was busy, and I got lots of excuses to see the angel about ‘house stuff’. He was taking clippings of some holly when I arrived home with Warlock. 

“Good evening, Brother Francis.”

“‘Ello you two!” Aziraphale knelt down, getting closer to Warlock’s eye level, “How was the rehearsal, Master Warlock?” 

“I’m gonna be Joseph!”

“Are you really?” Aziraphale asked, “Just that good were yeh?” 

“I was very good.” Warlock nodded, causing me to smirk. He ran off into the house.

“That one is a whirling dervish.” Aziraphale said fondly in his regular voice.

“A what?” I tilted my head toward the angel in confusion.

“A whirling dervish. It’s an expression that comes from Sufi meditative custom that involves spinning very fast.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I grinned toothily at Aziraphale, watching him intently, “Warlock would never meditate in his life.” 

“He would if it involved that much movement.” 

“You’re right.” I conceded. He had a point there. 

“How’s it all going anyway, with the play?” Aziraphale asked after a moment.

“Great! He seemed to really enjoy it. Made some friends already.” I swallowed, considering whether to tell Aziraphale how Warlock came to suddenly gain headline billing. _Sod it_ , when had I ever been known to hide things from the angel?

“He...uh...well he also intimidated the other kids.” I sighed, watching Aziraphale’s face for any small change in expression. 

“What did he do?” He asked curiously.

“He, uh, he threatened to shove apple seeds down little Barnaby’s throat.” I paused, “Make a tree grow in his tummy,” I added mimicking Warlock’s voice. 

“He what? That’s unpleasant, yes but not definitively wicked.”

“I’d expected you to be clutching your pearls.”

“Come now, you’ve got to have something to put in your reports to Hell, dear, and it’s nice and thematic too. Apple seeds.” He said with a light chuckle, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that betrayed his true feelings for the Antichrist. Aziraphale loved Warlock’s small, harmless acts of mischief almost as much as I did. Let it never be said in front of me that angels don’t have a sense of humour. That particular angel, at least.

“Right, and I suppose Gabriel will be thrilled to hear you’ve put the Antichrist on to the Bible?”

“Antichrist takes an interest in Jesus,” Aziraphale exclaimed, spreading his hands wide as he did so. “I can hear the celestial headlines now!” 

At that, we both broke out into a fit of light giggles. Not that he’d ever say anything, of course, but I’d got the sense that Aziraphale had very little patience for Gabriel. We’d discussed how they were the Angel who informed Mary of her immaculate conception, when Aziraphale was properly drunk, and agreed they’d probably done a terrible job. There was one thing Aziraphale would concede about Gabriel, and that was that they were ‘rather distant from humanity.’ That was Aziraphale speak for ‘a prick’. 

As I caught my breath, my eyes fell on the wicker basket Aziraphale had hanging over his arm. It was filled to the brim with winter plants; sloes, sprigs of holly, and a couple of bunches of mistletoe. I thought carefully about my next words before I spoke them.

“What’s, uh, the...er...mistletoe for ‘Ziraphale?” _Perfect, absolutely well done Crowley you idiot_.

“I thought it would be nice to spruce up my lodgings for winter.” 

“Right.”

“Never fear, I’ll hang it far away from any doors. I wouldn’t want unsuspecting people to-”

Just as Aziraphale was about to finish his sentence, as I was building up the courage to open my mouth to mutter something about _consenting people_ or how I’d happily be caught under the mistletoe with him, a loud crash came from inside the house.

Aziraphale tilted his head toward the noise, “I believe that’s your cue, Ms. Ashtoreth.”

“For fuck sake.” I cursed, glaring in the general direction of the sound as I headed inside to make sure Warlock was alright. Aziraphale started humming lightly while he worked as I crossed the threshold and called after the child. He was fine, the crystal was not. 

* * *

The next Wednesday came quickly, and once again it was time for me to walk Warlock to rehearsals. Someone help the poor director, today was the first time they’d actually be going through the story. I idly wondered if Warlock knew the Christmas story at all. While the angel probably had me beat on scriptural knowledge, I could match him in memory.

“Do you know the Christmas story, Warlock?” 

“Nuh-uh,” the boy shook his head in response.

As we walked, I set about telling him the story. About how Mary was in prayer when she was visited by the Archangel Gabriel who told her that she would have the Almighty’s baby. _Nasty shock for her husband._ About how Herrod wanted little baby Jesus dead. How they’d had to travel by donkey to Bethlehem just to fill out the census. _Fucking beauraucrats have never changed_. Warlock interrupted me as I was telling him how there was no room at the Inn, and how the little baby slept in a manger. 

“They made the baby sleep in the barn?” He asked, scandalised.

“Well, yes.” I replied with a chuckle.

“With the animals and all the poo?”

“Yes, I suppose...he was raised off the ground though. In a manger.”

“Wassa manger?”

I sighed “A kind of trough, for eating out of, dear.”

“See!” Warlock shouted, vindicated, “Why did they make a little baby sleep in a food bowl?” 

I had to agree with Warlock there, in fact I’d always found that element of the Christmas story a little unsettling, even if it was untrue. Mary, a heavily pregnant woman, arrived at the inn after travelling so many miles by donkey (which, for the record, are hardly better than horses). The innkeeper couldn’t be bothered to clear a small space inside, even a corner, for her and the baby Jesus once he arrived. Poor bugger. 

The most surprising thing happened after rehearsal, when it was time for me to walk Warlock home. They’d clearly talked about what happened in the Christmas story, because Warlock was incensed about King Herod. He was full of the righteous indignation that only seven year old children and certain angels can pull off.

“Herod was a bad man.”

He _was_ sort of bad. Although, the part about the massacre of all boys under the age of two was a bit of a stretch. A smattering of drama, artistic license if you like, on the part of the people who wrote the Bible after the fact. Not to say that it was all untrue, I’m here after all, but some of it was embellished. 

“Was he, deary?” I asked, certain he’d exhaust himself on the subject for the rest of the walk.

Sure enough, Warlock did, going on and on about how Herod was a cruel and evil king. He told me that he and his friends wanted to rewrite the ending of the play so that Herod got his comeuppance. They wanted to hang him in the final act. I listened with interest - the desire to punish people who deserved it was definitely an instinct the Antichrist should be developing by now.

Humans, of course, are rarely especially good or especially evil. However, I took particular joy in watching the definitively wicked ones get punished. The more ironic the punishment, the better. I encouraged his impulse to punish Herod, until I remembered why Aziraphale and I were raising the child together, and told him to direct further scriptural questions to the gardener. 

* * *

The rest of November passed by in a rush of rehearsals and Thanksgiving preparations. Harriet went overboard for the holiday, as usual, but the extra house staff she bought in to impress her guests meant that I had even less to do than usual so I didn’t mind. The play was due to start on December 13th, while the kids were energetic but not too hopped up on Santa that they couldn’t focus. It would only last a couple of nights, enough for all the parents who cared enough to show their faces to do so. 

There’d been a grand total of six reherals, and Warlock told me that they’d not actually run through the whole play, so I wasn’t expecting much from his performance. Not that I’d have been expecting much anyway, this was a performance in a cold community hall with a cast of excitable seven year olds, not the National Theatre. 

The play opened with the Archangel Gabriel, this one chubby cheeked and adorable, visiting Mary at prayer in Nazareth to inform her that she would become pregnant with the Almighty’s child. Young Ellie looked sufficiently confused at the news of her immaculate conception, and appropriately awed by the Angel of the Lord visiting her. The look on Mary’s face was more terrified than reventual, which I thought was the appropriate response. Prick though he might be, Gabriel could still destroy any human with a single look. 

Next up was the song about the little donkey, and its long journey down a dusty road. It was faltering and tuneless, as it should be, but over soon enough. Mary and Joseph arrived at the inn and were turned away by the innkeeper. Neither Warlock or Ellie looked sure of what to do after the baby arrived. They were almost awkward up on stage together. Totally natural for new parents. Instead of cradling him, or laying him in the manger, Mary held him to her shoulder and rubbed her back as if she were burping him. Probably something Ellie had seen her mum do to a younger sibling or whatever.

“Do you suppose that the baby Jesus needed burping?” Aziraphale whispered from his seat next to me.

“Must have done, mustn’t he?” I hissed, “The whole point was that he was human, not a God.” 

“Right you are, I just don’t actually remember seeing it in a nativity play before.”

Someone sat behind me, presumably a parent, behaved in an extremely un-British way and shushed us. An actual honest-to-goodness shush. Not even a polite tut or an exasperated sigh. Neither Aziraphale or I really wanted to cause an argument and ruin Warlock’s big moment on stage, so we kept most of our thoughts to ourselves after that. 

The three wise men eventually arrived, although for some unknown reason only one of them was carrying a gift. The gift was a honey smoked ham. What, exactly, a Jewish baby would want with a honey smoked ham I didn’t know. Then I supposed I didn’t know what a baby would want with frankincense and myrrh either. At least the gold wasn’t perishable and would come in handy as he got older. I couldn’t help but chuckle as Warlock stood on stage clutching the ham.

“A ham?” Aziraphale said, exasperated, “I suppose food would be useful for trading and what have you, it would be better if it were dried figs or honey.”

Blessed be the angel, trying to discern directorial intention behind a children’s nativity play. 

“I think they probably just lost the apothecary bottles, Angel.”

Interestingly, this iteration of Mary was a lot more protective over her child than usual in front of both the shepherds and the wise men. It made sense to me, she didn’t really know any of them from Adam. She was holding him close, protecting him with her body. I idly wondered whether their lack of complete dress rehearsal had resulted in them acting in what they thought was a natural way.

I watched with surprise as play ended, the Holy family gathered around the manger, and both Ellie and Warlock had actual tears in their eyes. I don’t think I’d ever seen Warlock cry before, even when he scuffed his knee, dropped his ice cream, or was told ‘no’. I quickly swallowed to hold back my emotions, a completely unforgivable thing for a demon to have, and joined in with the clapping. 

Somehow, Warlock and his friends had managed to make the nativity play much more compelling than usual. Most everyone in the audience knew the story because they’d watched older siblings perform or been in their own childhood plays. I knew Jesus, Mary, and Joseph but I wasn’t there for his birth. He was just a little baby in a dusty backwater at the time, despite what the gospels say. However, I supposed the performance tonight was closer to what actually happened than the designated script. Except the ham. 

Beside me, Aziraphale was sniffing into his handkerchief as various angels, stars, and shepherds were bowing on stage. I hardly had the heart to tease him.

“Are you crying, Angel?” I said with all the condescension I could muster.

“Yes, and what of it?”

“Was hardly Romeo and Juliet.”

“When have you ever seen me cry at Romeo and Juliet?” He said pompously with a sniff.

I could name at least two productions of Romeo and Juliet we’d attended together that had moved Aziraphale to tears but knew better than to bring that up. He was in a good mood, happy, and I didn’t want to ruin that or have a grumpy angel huffing at me all the way home and into next week. 

* * *

I helped Aziraphale out of his seat and walked with him to find Warlock by the bottom of the stairs that led up to the stage. He was practically hopping on the spot and had a huge smile on his face, I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. 

“Well done love, fine work indeed,” I said in Nanny’s voice.

“Good work, Master Warlock,” Brother Francis agreed.

“Do you think mummy will come and see it?” Warlock asked in a small voice, his eyes wide with hope.

My heart thudded in my chest. Antichrist though he may be, Warlock was still just a child. Poor kid had been used to his dad being absent because of his job but had never quite given up on earning his mother’s attention. She was kind enough, and clearly loved the boy dearly, but was often too busy to give him as much attention as he wanted. After all, that’s why she hired a Nanny in the first place. Still, he was full of heartbreaking childlike hope that tugged at my heartstrings. I did my best to keep my composure and not let my emotions flash across my face. Thank Someone for sunglasses. 

“She’s away, dear, but I’m sure she’ll want to hear all about it.” 

“That’s why we came to watch you!” Aziraphale added.

Aziraphale took the boy’s hand and led him outside. I took the other as we started walking, I’m a demon not a monster after all, and we swung him between us. We enthused about our favourite parts of the performance and told him that he was clearly a perceptive and clever young boy to understand how a new parent might feel. As I heard what I was saying, I wondered if I was being too soft on the boy. I resolved to teach him some really gruesome history tomorrow. Something properly horrible.

“Why did Melchior bring you a ham?” I asked curiously. 

“We lost the frankincense.” Warlock admitted. I looked meaningfully at Aziraphale. 

“We’ll get you some dried fruits for tomorrow, deary.”

“Can I be Joseph next Christmas?”

“As long as you’ve got some apple seeds ready.”

Aziraphale gave me a reproachful sort of look. I tried to look innocent, we both knew I should wholeheartedly be encouraging that sort of behaviour from Warlock. As the boy broke away from us and began to bound down the street, he closed the distance between us and threaded his fingers through mine. We stayed like that, his warm and still miraculously soft hand in mine, until we got to the entrance of the Dowlings’ estate. Wouldn’t do to start any rumours about the Nanny and the Gardener now would it?


End file.
